


Clever As The Devil And Twice As Pretty

by orphan_account



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Magic is Real AU, Not shipping - Freeform, Occult, Other, Witch!Bart, demon!friedkin, nonbinary!bart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-09 19:12:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12894855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: If you'd told Ken a year ago that he'd one day he'd be taking advice from a demon-- a demon that he summoned himself, no less-- he would've told you you were crazy. And yet, that doesn't stop Ken from doing just that, and having to deal with all the repercussions that come with it.The world of magic and the people in it are not quite how he imagined. Will he be able to learn from a witch, or outsmart a demon? The way things seem to be going, yeah probably. But will he be able to make it out of the experience with his freedom, and his soul?





	1. Born Without Faith

Ken had always been  _ aware  _ of the occult, just like everyone else. Everyone had that friend who made regular tips to their local witch, or an aunt that was always talking about that time she got into transfiguration magic when she was younger. 

But for Ken, magic mixed about as well with his worldview as oil does with water. He avoided it for most of his life, preferring solid things like numbers and hardware. Things that would only break in ways he could fix– and when they  _ did _ break they probably wouldn’t kill him.

His sister, on the other hand, jumped at the option to bring magic into her life. She regularly saw psychics, magicians, witches, and clerics whenever she had a problem to take care of, or simply if she was bored and wanted relationship advice. 

Unlike Ken, who seemed to have been born entirely without faith in the occult, Magic fit perfectly into her weltanschauungen. She loved going on wild trips and doing crazy shit like cliff jumping, and how was learning prestidigitation or putting a couple cantrips under her belt any different? 

So, when Ken reached a point in writing a new piece of code where the human mind could no longer suffice as a tool, It was his sister that he ended up turning to. 

Now, it may seem like a bit off a jump to go from a simple conversation about the occult to standing in the middle of a crossroads attempting to summon a demon. However, where they might seem totally different in every way, Ken and his sister did have one deep-set and unfortunate similarity: the tendency to get easily carried away.

The conversation that Ken had with his sister– whose name was Karen, because their parents had had a special attachment to hard K sounds and forgettable names– started with him voicing an issue he was having with the code he was writing, which he believed would revolutionize the way people code smartphones (and, more importantly, would make him a whole lot of money). It was during their once-a-month sibling hangouts that Karen had designated, knowing that if she didn’t do so she’d only see her brother a couple times during the year on holidays.

That conversation ended with, however impetuous it may seem, Karen referring Ken to her witch (who she saw with the same regularity with which you might see a shrink).

So Ken went to visit this witch, only partially because he actually thought it would actually help with his problem. He also did it out of sort-of-morbid curiosity, although he wouldn’t dare tell his sister that.

  
  


Now, at this point in time much of the witch profession had gentrified; gone were the days of living on the outskirts of town, and in were the days of magical human beings having steady work and strip-mall offices. While this change was generally an improvement in the quality of life department, it was a bit of a loss for those who appreciated the magical  _ aesthetic _ .

Such people would absolutely loved the witch that Ken found himself visiting. Their place of business was exactly what Ken’s mental image of a witch’s hut would’ve been– if such and image had included the downstairs chinese restaurant. No wonder Karen liked it so much.

The person was even more fitting to the image of witch. Ken would’ve thought it was all an act if it hadn’t been so totally sincere; they were dirty, clothed in earth tones, and even had a large pointed hat that often flopped in front of their eyes– they kept having to push it out of the way like a badly executed pair of bangs.

“I’ve never been totally sure if I believe in this sort of thing.” Ken said after the primary introductions. He said it while poking a floating coil of metal that sat on one of the tables in the window of the shop, causing it to wobble dangerously. His poking it didn’t do anything to teach him what it did, but it did give him a small electric shock and an insight into the time of day at which he would die. 

The witch, whose name was Bart (Ken knew this from the metal nametag pinned to their cloak, an accessory that threw their whole witchy look entirely out of whack), scoffed at this statement.

“Well, if you have trouble believing the shit that’s right in front of you, then I’m afraid that you’re the one who’s crazy, and not me. Which would be a first for me, actually. Tea?”

Ken was so thrown off by their nonchalant swearing that he didn’t realize what they were offering him something. He looked up finally to see them holding hospitably towards him a teapot that seemed to be more rust than metal anymore– it was customary for witches to offer their guests refreshments, although most had abandoned the old herbal teas to settle on more modern things like lemonade and soda. 

Ken experienced a brief internal battle between courtesy and disgust before accepting; “Uh yeah, sure. Please.”

Bart poured some inky brown water into a tiny china teacup and passed it to him. This dainty act was quickly made incongruous by them slamming their hand roughly down on the table a moment later.

“Look, Kenny” – Ken didn’t recall giving them his name, although he suspected this was simply a small gimmick encouraged by his sister, who had called ahead of time– “If you’re gonna be disrespectful to my occupation, then you can very well leave.”

“N-no. I’m good.” Ken said penitently. He took a sip of his tea to fill the awkwardness that only he perceived. He couldn’t tell if he liked the tea or hated it, but he was positive about one thing; it was strong as fuck. 

“Okay, then, well. Let’s get started.” they had the kind of accent Ken assumed you could only pick up from the Boston sewer system. 

they folded their fingerless-glove-clad hands in front of their, and Ken finally got the feeling he was in a professional establishment and not a particularly damp and filthy halfway house. 

“So why’re you here, Kenny? You’re sister tells me you got somethin’ troubling you.”

Ken really wanted to correct them about the nickname, but he realized that he was in fact too scared of their to go through with it.

“I’m writing this code, but I can’t seem to finish it– to get it where it needs to be. I’ve tried everything the software world has to offer so I felt like magic was the most logical next step.” Ken hated how that sounded coming out of him– he had never considered magic to be a logical step in  _ anything _ – but he was really that desperate.

“What? Code like...Morse code? Or, like, translating words and shit?” Bart was clearly racking their brain for a clue to what he meant. Ken was a little bit delighted to see that the conversation had wandered into his area of expertise.

“Code as in technological code. Like, the stuff that makes up websites and computers.” Bart nodded along with what he was saying, although it was clear they were still a little lost.

“Well, there’s no particular school of magic that can account for technology. But there are more general spells that can help with, like, wishes and stuff. They can help, and sometimes they can even fix your whole problem, but they always come with a cost, y’know? That’s, uh, kinda the whole point”

They stopped to drain their cup of tea, and then looked at Ken poiniently. It took him a moment to realize that it was his turn to speak, partly because he’d kind of been letting what Bart was saying go in one ear and out the other.

“Well, what kind of stuff are we talking about here?”

“Generally pretty basic stuff. Like, the shit you read about in fairy tales when you’re a kid. Genies, monkey’s paws, crossroads demons– ”

The last part was what gave Ken the most pause– and what set him off on the whole torrid affair in the first place– he had heard of crossroad demons, and of the things Bart had listed this seemed the most exploitable. Plus you have to  _ find  _ a genie (and he wasn’t quite sure it was worth searching every thrift store in Seattle) but a demon will  _ come to _ you. 

Ken interrupted Bart to voice this fact. Bart raised an unkempt eyebrow.

“That’s awful, uh…”

“Precocious? Incorrigible? Ambitious?”

“Yeah. That. Ambitious. I mean, I’m obviously not one to beat to the drum of the government, but...you know that dealing with demons is illegal, right? I’m not gonna judge but you seem like the kinda guy who wouldn’t wanna get into that kinda trouble. Don’t wanna start with somethin’ a lil simpler?”

Ken was fuming at what he perceived to be a massive underestimation of his abilities. First his skills at coding had failed him, and now magic had, too.

“You know what? You’re right. Whatever. I’ll leave, maybe getting a new look at it after a couple days will do me good. Thanks anyway.”

He began to get up and leave, prompting Bart to let out a long and beleaguered sigh.

“Okay, fine. I have the ingredients, but just know that this could end very badly for you.” The gave an infuriatingly dismissive laugh. “In more ways than one.”

Ken couldn’t stifle his smile as Bart walked him through the different ingredients and steps through which he would be able to summon a demon. 

 

It was only two days later that Ken was standing in the middle of the crossroads of his choice (a nice secluded road in a wooded area; far enough from civilization that he wouldn’t be heard, but close enough that he could run if he needed to). He would’ve done it sooner, but he’d had to wait until after he’d made the drive back from his sister’s place to do it if he was going to follow through on what he was planning.

He’d felt absolutely stupid burying that dumb little box at the center of the crossroads– although the monotony of finding the exact center had been strangely calming. He’d then drawn the idiotic circle that Bart had advised he use to trap the demon, and he was on the verge of saying the moronic incantation they’d written down for him on a slip of paper when he began to falter.

During that pregnant pause which was filled only by the chirping of crickets Ken half expected his sister or the host of some prank show to jump out of the woods holding a camcorder and laughing their ass off at him. 

“Stupid, stupid  _ stupid _ ” He proclaimed at the ground. 

He finally gave in and said the incantation.


	2. Interview With A Demon

Ken didn’t usually consider himself one to get flustered by or to pay attention to people’s looks at all– he didn’t like to let that sort of thing factor into his opinions of people– but with this particular demon it was almost impossible not to. Ken wouldn’t’ve been surprised to look up the word ‘handsome’ in the dictionary and find this man’s face next to it (the only thing signaling his demonic nature was a small, rounded pair of horns sticking out of his forehead). Ken wondered for a split second if this was some kind of marketing scheme, as if people might trust him with their souls more if he was unsettlingly pretty.

If that was true then it was working unbelievably badly; despite his policies regarding people’s appearances, Ken had trouble trusting people so classically attractive.

 

One of the things they don’t usually tell you about summoning a crossroads demon is how unbelievably awkward it is. You only ever hear about the plume of bright white fire that shoots up from the ground, and the otherworldly screams that accompany it. 

What people always forget to mention is the awkward silences that tend to result from summoning a possibly hostile being who you don’t know to the middle of the wilderness without so much as an appointment.

The demon continuously rubbed his hands on the pant legs of his seemingly extremely expensive suit as if his palms were implausibly sweaty.

_ Do demons sweat?  _ Ken asked himself, his brain supplying him with inane and useless thoughts as if desperate to fill the silence somehow.

_ It’s really hot in hell, isn’t it? Having to sweat would be awfully inconvenient. _

“So uh, hi.” The demon said, waving awkwardly.

“Yeah, hello.” Ken said, almost condescendingly. Popular culture had lead him to believe that a demon– especially one this astonishingly handsome– should be suave and savvy with his words. This one already seemed decidedly not that.

More silence.

“Yeah. Sorry. I’m a little rusty. They don’t usually let me do this kind of thing, but we’re always pretty short-staffed on full moons.” He pointed up at the sky meekly as if Ken wouldn’t’ve noticed the moon shining almost as bright as daylight above them.

“Of course.” Ken muttered. This whole thing was becoming more ludicrous by the second.  _ Of course  _ he’d gotten the most inept demon possible the first time in his life he’d chosen to rely on magic, and  _ of course  _ he’d chosen to do so on the busiest night of the month. 

What luck.

“So, uh, what do you want?” 

Ken finally saw his chance and pulled a neatly folded pre-prepared questionnaire out of his pocket. “I actually have a couple questions first.”

The demon groaned loudly and threw his head back like a flippant teenager. Ken raised his eyebrows indignantly. He didn’t personally think someone who could quite literally be described as a demon had any right to be flippant. It seemed he was equally as unhappy to be saddled with Ken as Ken was with him.

“Uh...what is it?”

The demon shook out his hands as if trying to expel excess energy from his limbs. “It’s nothing, just...I  _ had  _ to get one of the nitpicky ones, didn’t I? I couldn’t get one that just wanted, like, a nice singing voice or something? Or like, a fiddle?”

Ken furrowed his eyebrows even more. “Seriously? Isn’t this  _ your job _ ?” He was getting almost angry now, angry that the demon had the audacity to question Ken’s motives when  _ he _ was the one who had summoned him there, and the one who had him trapped in the demon sigil.

“Yeah but…” Ken caught sight of the demons eyes for a moment; they looked almost like they were smoldering, as if the fires of hell were burning directly behind his eyes. “Okay. Fine. Alright. As your stu–  ask you questions.”

Ken looked down at the paper for a moment, and when he looked up the demon was sitting cross-legged in the dirt like a little kid– although his suit, turned silver by the moonlight, remained pristine.

“So, first question: what’s your name.”

“Hugo.” He thought for a moment before deciding to add his last name; “Friedkin.”

Ken raised his eyebrows again– this demon seemed to have a talent for making him do that.

“ _ Hugo?  _ That’s your name– your given,  _ demon  _ name?” Ken immediately regretted his words, although his confusion felt justified. He didn’t know what he’d expected exactly; probably some archaic latin name ending in -ion and -iel. He was equally astonished to find that this particular demon had a last name– once again, he didn’t know why; it just seemed weird and out of place.

“Well, yeah. We can’t all have impossible-to-pronounce names forty letters long. They had to start getting creative  _ eventually _ . I mean, I’m only a couple years old.”

Ken couldn’t help but wonder how many years was ‘a couple’ to a demon– if he was talking to someone thousands of years old, or three. 

Friedkin saw they confused expression on his face. “A couple as in a couple hundred.” Ken tried to nod knowledgeably, as if he’d guessed that in the first place.

“Okay, question two; do I really have to sell you my soul. I mean, I’m not totally averse, but I have become a little attached to it…”

Hugo had scrunched up his nose and started waving his hand dismissively. “No, that’s just an old lie. They want you to think that everyone who deals with demons is automatically soulless, but only  _ most  _ of them are.” He paused. “I mean, I can take your soul if you  _ want _ , but I don’t  _ have  _ to.” He said the last part with an expression almost like a smile. 

Ken smirked, scribbling this answer on the questionnaire. This was going surprisingly well despite the rocky start.

“Yeah, I just need something that’s really valuable to you. And you can’t, like, lie, and try to give me something that isn’t actually valuable, because I’ll, like,  _ know _ .” Ken took note of this– although he suspected Hugo was exaggerating the last bit (he wasn’t very good at hiding it), so he also took note of the fact that lying was an option. 

“Alright, third: is my wish going to have repercussions, as in a ‘be careful what you wish for’ kind of situation?”

Friedkin stuck out his split tongue. “Naw, we don’t have the time or willingness to do that sorta thing. The punishment is supposed to be the taking of the valuable thing.” Ken nodded and was about to ask the next question when the demon slammed his fist violently down on his knee. He groaned performatively.

“What? What is that?”

Hugo rubbed his presumably aching knee. If Ken squinted he could imagine that the horns on his head had grown ever-so-slightly. “It’s nothing, just– you weren’t really supposed to know that. It’s supposed to add to the” – here he punctuated with a rather dorky pair of air quotes– “‘ _ mystery _ .’”

Ken made a noise– not quite a laugh but something near it. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense. I tend to make that kind of veracity come out in people.”

Hugo cocked his head and pouted, showing off his model-like looks without even meaning to. “You– what?”

Ken brushed him off. “Whatever. It was a joke.” Ken looked quickly back down at his list to read the next question. 

“Who do you work for? Like who’s your boss? Satan?”

Upon hearing that last part Hugo let out a loud, barking laugh. “ _ God  _ no”– Ken covertly made a note of the fact that demons were even able to say that word– “I am  _ way  _ below him on the ladder, are you kidding me? No. My boss is a guy named Osmund. Osmund Priest.”

Ken opened his eyes wide, and laughed the loudest, fakest laugh he thought possible. “ _ Really?  _ The name of your  _ boss,  _ a  _ demon,  _ is  _ Mr. Priest _ ?”

Hugo nodded blankly. “Yeah. People usually get a kick out of that.” he paused and then let out another groan “ _ Jesus,  _ you weren’t supposed to know that part, either. My boss always says the hi– ” He stuttered at pronouncing the word “The, the  _ hierarchy  _ of demons should remain secret. I guess you do bring out verac… verac-titty in me.”

Ken struggled to suppress a smile, not bothering to correct him.

“Okay, last one.” Ken glanced down at the paper and suddenly became very thankful that the darkness of the woods obscured the fact that he’d suddenly started sweating very, very hard.

“Is the… is the kiss thing true? Like, kissing to seal a deal?”

Friedkin’s face curled into a smile. “Only if you want it to be.” 


	3. Cigarettes and Sudoku

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning in this chapter for extremely mild profanity and smoking mentions

Ken glanced briefly down at the list to make sure he’d gotten everything and then looked back up to flash Hugo a cheeky smile.

“Okay, well, that’s all for now. I’m gonna go give it some thought and come back later.” He stuffed the paper back in his back pocket and began to wander back up the road. Behind him, he heard the demon finally scramble into a sitting position.

“Wait, what? Where are you going?”

Ken turned around to see a pair of pleading brown eyes staring back at him. He sighed. “You heard me.  _ I’m going to give it some thought. _ I’m going to decide how I’ll going to play this, and then I’ll come back. Maybe with a deal, maybe with more questions. We’ll see.”

“But, but…” Friedkin was very clearly still struggling with this concept. He took a couple steps forward towards the edge of the demon trap, causing Ken to subconsciously take two steps back. “You can’t just  _ leave  _ me here.” He waved his hands ineffectually in the air. “I have  _ stuff  _ to do. People are going to wonder where I  _ am. _ ”

Ken grinned. “Yeah, I doubt it.” He gave it a couple second’s thought. “Look, I can’t let you out right now because that would mess up my plan, but I can, like, bring you some stuff.  _ I guess _ . Like, stuff to keep you occupied.” 

He looked directly into the eyes of the demon. Where he had previously been unsure he was now positive that he could see the fires of hell burning behind them.

“Any requests?”

Friedkin scrunched up his face. “I don’t  _ know.  _ I mean, demons don’t really  _ eat _ so…” His eyes lit up– figuratively this time– “Oh how about, like, some games? And, like, magazines. But not ones with lots of words in them, I don’t really like that sort of thing.”

Ken nodded dismissively, eager to get going.

~~~

It was about half an hour later that Ken pulled into the first gas station he spotted on the side of the road. Despite knowing that there was no possible way for anyone to know his mission his neck burned from the fear that he was there to buy porno mags for a demon he had trapped only a couple miles down the road.

They didn’t actually  _ have  _ any prono mags, however, because they were a gas station, and beside’s Ken hadn’t been sure if he’d’ve been able to have the courage to check out with that sort of thing.

Instead he settled for a couple gossip magazines and a book of sudoku puzzles. As an afterthought he picked up two boxes of cigarettes– the nice brand for him, and the shit brand for the child of hell.

“Demons probably like cigarettes, right?” He muttered to himself on the way out the door. 

~~~

Not willing to deal with anymore conversation for the night, Ken simply tossed the items into the demon trap and, as an afterthought, snapped a picture of Friedkin where he once again sat cross-legged like a pouting kid in the middle of the star where he’d first appeared an hour earlier.

Just as he was getting back into his car Ken heard Friedkin yell faintly after him;

“But I don’t even  _ smoke _ !”

~~~

Ken deliberated over his questionnaire for a day or so before he realized that he wasn’t actually learning anything, just reading the same questions and answers over and over again and wondering if he had enough information to decide what to do. He smoked through that whole pack of cigarettes in that first day, although whether it was out of stress or desire for routine he didn’t know. 

No matter how much he hated it, he eventually realized what he had to do. He left to go back and visit the witch that night.

~~~

Ken thought it wholly unprofessional for him to arrive at the witch’s store uninvited, but once he remembered that he hadn’t gotten her phone number he figured he had no choice. When he eventually did go to visit her he came to the conclusion that business wasn’t exactly booming.

Bart’s eyes lit up when he appeared at the top of the stairs, and he couldn’t help but smile when he saw the way they grinned at him as he approached their desk.

“So, didja do it?” They asked, pouring him another cup of inky black tea without even asking first.

Ken sighed. “Not quite yet. I wanted to, uh...gather information first. To better inform my decision.”

Bart arched an eyebrow at him. “C’mon, Kenny, you’re selling your soul here not buying a car.”

Ken rushed to pull the piece of paper from his pocket, which had by this point become crumpled significantly less legible. “ _ Actually,  _ I don’t really have to sell my soul. Friedkin said I could just sell something that has a lot of value to me.”

Bart blanched. “So this demon has a name now?”

Ken nodded absentmindedly, too distracted by his own tangent to actually respond. “Yeah, so, that’s where I got tripped up. I thought it would be good to ask you for advice. My idea so far has been that I could sell him a  _ concept,  _ something undefinable so I won’t really be giving him anything at all.” He smiled maniacally at them, and suddenly for a moment Bart got to see Ken for what he really was; a thoroughly stressed out and afraid man who was on the verge of a breakdown, and who probably hadn’t slept in the last twelve hours.

“So you came all the way out here just for me? How flattering.” Bart said in a feeble attempt to change the subject. “Are you even gonna visit your sister while you’re here?”

Ken’s smile went slack, but only for a moment before it was restored. “Nah, I don’t think she’d, uh, approve of what I’m doing. It’s better she doesn’t know I’m here.”

Bart raised their eyebrows but figured Ken wouldn't appreciate them criticizing his life choices at the moment.

“So, a concept, huh? Like whatcha thinkin of here?”

Ken nodded. “Yeah, I’m thinking, like, what things do humans have that demons don’t. What might he  _ want  _ from me, like a thing that could actually improve his quality of life. Like, Hugo” – another eyebrow raise– “said that demons can’t eat. So maybe I could sell him my ability to eat? I don’t know, the plan is still in the works but you get the idea.”

“Sell him your… Okay, so, what questions didja have for  _ me _ ?” Bart asked, resigned to the fact they were now complicit in Ken’s insanity.

“Oh, yeah.” He smoothed out the paper in his lap and then pulled out his phone. He pulled up the picture he’d taken of Friedkin and showed it to Bart. 

“Do you recognize him? He’s not like, infamous or anything?” 

Bart glanced at the photo and then giggled.

“Wait, is he? He’s not going to trick me or anything, right?”

Bart shook their head. “No, but.” They zoomed in on part of the screen. “You drew the demon trap wrong.The star is supposed to have five points, yours has six. If your demon is acting trapped he’s only doin’ it to humor you.”

Ken thought back to the dopey puppy-dog look Hugo had had in his eyes for much of their interview. “Yeah, I doubt that. He probably doesn’t even know the trap is wrong, he just doesn’t want to see what’ll happen if he tries to step out.”

Bart shrugged. “Or he’s making his way here to kill you right now.”

Ken shivered at the thought, but remained positive that Friedkin was too dumb, or at least too scared, to try to escape the trap. 

“Okay, I have another question, then.” He held up the paper with the questions on it. “Hugo said his boss is a guy named Priest. Osmund Priest.”

Bart didn’t go as far as spitting out their tea like a sitcom character, but they did seem to almost choke mid-sip. “ _ Priest _ ?”

“Ah-ha! So you do know this one!”  
Bart shook their head head unconvincingly. “No, no. I don’t _know_ him, but a demon with that kinda name can’t be good, right?”

Ken didn’t believe this lie for a second but sensed it was a sensitive issue. “Yeah, right, but why would that be my problem?”

Bart leaned forwards across their desk, suddenly uncharacteristically somber. Ken would’ve lied if he’d said he wasn’t a little afraid of this new mode. 

“Look, Ken; contrary to popular belief, the job of demon, and  _ especially  _ the job of crossroads demon, isn’t one that provides a lot of satisfaction. Most demons didn’t  _ choose  _ this life, and so most of them hate the life they have. So to discipline demons and keep them in line is a lot of work, and no person– no  _ demon  _ who does that could possibly be a good guy. It doesn’t matter how thick-skulled your new business partner is, if his boss is the kind of guy who won’t hesitate to cheat you on a deal.”

Ken nodded. His expression was somber but his eyes were wild. Truthfully he’d stopped paying attention a minute ago.

“You’re right. He did seem to really hate his job.” Bart cringed, realizing they’d failed to get their point across.

Ken suddenly bolted into a standing position, throwing the light wicker chair he was sitting in backwards. “I got it! I’ll sell him my  _ freedom _ .”

Bart sighed. “What does that even  _ mean,  _ Ken?”

“Well, it’s like you said, right? He hates his job, and that represents something I have that he doesn’t; the freedom to do and go whatever and wherever I want!”

Bart rolled their eyes but didn’t speak, no longer willing to be an accomplice in Ken’s apparent descent into madness.

“Besides, that sort of thing won’t matter when I’m a millionaire! You’re right, this makes perfect sense.” He didn’t even look for approval and simply started walking back out the door, crumpling up the paper and stuffing it back in his coat pocket.

Bart sighed conflictedly and then picked up a pen and scribbled something on one of the loose post-its on their desk.

“Ken. Wait.” They said right before Ken started going down the stairs.

They jogged up to him and passed him the paper. “My phone number. In case you have any more questions, so you don’t have to make the three hour drive again.”

Ken glanced down at the paper and thanked them, but by the way he smiled halfheartedly and stuffed it into his pocket distractedly it was clear to Bart that they probably wouldn’t be hearing from him again.

“That’s a shame.” Bart said to themself as they stood at the top of the stairs, listening to the bell on the door to the outside jingle after him. “I’d at least like to know if he dies or not."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter will probably be the last, release date undecided.  
> comments/theories/kudos would be greatly appreciated!


	4. Deals, Deals, Deals!

The next day Ken made his second trip from his sister’s neighborhood to his own in as many weeks, and then back down to the crossroads where Friedkin was assumably still trapped.

He brought his computer, another pack of cigarettes (the nicest possible brand) and a couple other things, unsure of what kind might be required for the process of a demon deal. 

As he approached the trap he found the sudoku lying on the ground where Friedkin had evidently thrown it in frustration. Ken skimmed through it and found that instead of actually solving the puzzles Friedkin had scribbled little skulls and dicks in each of the boxes.

A couple feet away he found the pack of cigarettes lying empty. As he approached the circle in which Friedkin sat, head bowed, he held up the box. 

“I thought you said you didn’t smoke?”

Upon hearing his voice Hugo shot into a standing position and bolted angrily forward towards the edge of the circle. Anticipating this Ken pulled a gun out of his pack and pointed it at him– that had been one of those other things he hadn’t been sure if he’d need or not.

“Look, man, I’m just here to make a deal.”

Ken wasn’t sure if demons were even susceptible to bullets, but even if they weren’t he was pretty sure that Friedkin would either be too dumb or too scared to play those odds. 

He was right; Friedkin immediately backed down and went back into his cross-legged position on the ground. 

His horns and eyes were no longer smouldering, they were full on  _ burning _ – giving off little puffs of smoke every couple seconds. His horns had grown at least a couple inches in length, curling up out of his hair.

“So, the cigarettes…”

Friedkin glanced up at the box in Ken’s hand. “Oh yeah. I ate them.”

“You  _ ate  _ them?” Ken stared down at the demon with a newfound mix of amazement and condescension. “Y’know what? Never mind. I don’t care. I don’t want to hear about it.”

“It’s cuz I was  _ bored _ ! I had nothing to do; those little box puzzles you gave me made  _ no  _ sense, and  _ these–  _ ” He pushed the magazines toward him demonstratively “–  had too many  _ words  _ in them. I can’t– I don’t  _ like  _ that sort of thing.”

Ken suppressed a smile as Friedkin ran his hands through his hair and straightened his tie.

“So, you said you had a deal for me? Finally?” Ken couldn’t tell whether this was a question or not– most of Friedkin’s statements had the qualities of questions, curling up a little at the edges– but he took it as one.

“Yes, well, It’s actually more like a pitch.” Friedkin rolled his eyes at this but didn’t make a move to interrupt. 

“Oh, and by the way, I brought you something. Think of it as a prize, for making it through the past two days.” He pulled the cigarettes out of his bag and tossed a couple into the circle. Friedkin wrapped his arms around his knees and glared at them.

“So, what’s this deal– this  _ pitch  _ you were talking about?”

Ken smiled. “So, you hate your job, right? That’s not really a question, since you’ve made it pretty clear that you do.” Hugo nodded, obviously a bit annoyed that he was so easy to read.

“Well, what if I said that, in return for the ability to finish my code, I could set you free? I could let you out of this circle right now.”

Friedkin raised his eyebrows. “I don’t…” He was clearly trying to seem like he wasn’t interested, and was also very clearly terrible at hiding this fact. “What’s in it for me?”

Ken raised his eyebrows. “Seriously? What’s– I literally just said what’s in it for you. And me.” He rubbed his forehead, realizing he’d built his argument with a much smarter audience in mind. “It’s clear that this deal benefits both of us. I get to finish my code and become a millionaire, and you got to leave your job and go live your life or whatever.”

“Oh, okay, I get it. But…” Ken sighed, more than a little unhappy with having to compete with Hugo’s incompetency so much.

“My boss, the guy I told you about, he wouldn’t really like me leaving my job.”

“Yes but that’s the  _ point. _ ” Urged ken, “You won’t have to worry about him anymore, because you’ll be  _ free _ .” 

Hugo stared at him, licks of flame lapping at his forehead and hair. Something irrational in Ken’s chest made him worry that he might accidentally set his hair on fire. 

“That...actually sounds pretty good.”

 

~~~

Ken linked back up with Karen later that week. It had only been a week and a half since she’d last seen him, so she was a bit surprised to hear from him so early.

He was grinning when he walked through the door of her apartment, his smile bigger than any one she’d seen him wearing in years. He didn’t seem any different at first, but he was in that covert way people are different after getting new glasses or a haircut– that way that you can’t quite put your finger on, but know is there.

That was how Ken seemed; he was glowing, and his clothes– while the same boring color schemes he was accustomed to– seemed more expensive. 

He also hugged her for the first time since they were teenagers. It was stiff and a little cold, but it was definitely a hug, and she savoured it. 

“Hey, Ken, interesting seeing you so early in the month! what’s the occasion?” She asked, already pouring them both cups of coffee. 

“It’s– I need you to come downstairs for a sec. You need to see something.” This was all really weird and out of character for him, but he was still smiling so she decided to assume the best.

Ken led Karen down the steps of her apartment building by her hand. He stopped before walking out the door and turned to her. 

“Okay, uh, close your eyes. No, wait– ” He grabbed her other hand and positioned it over her eyes loosely. She giggled. 

“Yeah, okay, that works.” He continued pulling her out the door and into the chilly fall air. He grabbed her shoulders and situated her so she was facing towards the street.

“Okay, now...open your eyes.”

After obeying Karen’s eyes fell upon a bright red corvette, just like the one she used to have as a hot wheels miniature as a kid.

“Oh, my god, Ken…” She turned to him, eyes wide. “Where did you get the  _ money  _ for this?” 

He didn’t have to answer, though; his eyes said it all, bright and glowing and urgent. 

“You finished the code?” He nodded vigorously. “Oh, you finished the code! We’re rich!” She yelled out as she hugged her brother in the middle of the sidewalk.

~~~

Karen beamed at her brother over their now cold cups of coffee. 

“So, when I sent you to Bart, you’re telling me that actually  _ worked _ ?” 

Ken nodded. “I got home and suddenly everything was clear to me. I finished three months worth of coding work in three  _ hours _ , it was like everything was laid out for me, like a string of dominoes or something. Then I patented it and by the next day it’d been bought! I’m set for life now, ten times over.”

“God, Ken, that’s amazing! So, what did Bart do for you? A focusing spell? A genie?”

Ken gagged. “Uh, no. None of those things. I needed something a little stronger than that, actually.”

“Well, sure, but how strong are we talkin here? It’s not like you were out making a demon deal or anything.”

Ken had begun to sweat profusely, and suddenly he had a very vivid flashback to being back at the crossroads, enveloped in flame as Hugo’s warm hand shook his– he hadn’t even seen him go, he’d just suddenly found himself alone in the middle of the crossroads.

“Wait,  _ did  _ you?” Karen asked, laughing a bit deliriously. Ken continued to choke, the river of lies and clever spin that usually flowed freely from his mouth suddenly deciding to run dry.

“Ken, what aren’t you telling me?  _ Did you summon a demon _ ?”

Ken nodded, his mouth parched and sticky. Karen shot up from her chair, glaring down at him, wearing a familiar scolding older sister expression except ten times amplified. 

“Ken that’s  _ illegal _ ! Did you really  _ sell your soul _ for a few fucking lines of code?”

Ken smiled tightly. “That’s the thing, K,  _ I didn’t have to sell my soul _ . I sold a  _ concept _ , something I don’t even really need. Besides– ” He motioned in the general direction of the street outside, where the new car was parked. “How do you think I bought that car? Plus, now you can finish your degree! You can move out of this shitty apartment!  _ We don’t have to worry about money anymore. _ ” 

He attempted to place a hand on her shoulder, but she shoved him away and growled like a caged animal. “You can take your fucking car. None of that is worth  _ your soul _ , Ken. Now get out of my apartment.”

Ken massaged the bridge of his nose as if exasperated by what he considered to be irrationality, an action that only served to make her even angrier. “I told you, Karen, I didn’t sell my soul. I’m still your brother– ”

Karen whipped around to look at him, the sudden anger in her eyes strangely reminiscent of the fire behind Friedkin’s. 

“You’re no brother of mine, you soulless asshole. Now leave my apartment before  _ I call the cops _ .”

Ken wanted to continue arguing his point, but sensed that it would be better to just follow her advice and come at a later time to negotiate.

As he walked out the door he glanced over the car he’d bought for his sister, deciding to leave it behind in case she might come to her senses sometime soon. He climbed into his own car and drove away.

~~~

Things were good with Ken, for a while. He called his sister every day for a couple weeks, stopping just short of appearing at her apartment again. He realized that she might really not want to see him again, and he was fine with that. He decided that that shit didn’t matter, and that he shouldn’t have people in his life who couldn’t appreciate the things he did for them.

He moved into a bigger house and lived the life he assumed people as rich as him should live. He never really noticed an absence of freedom, although he never really felt the need to leave his house or travel anywhere so it wasn’t really a problem. 

He kept expecting Friedkin to come back though. He kept expecting to pull back the shower curtain to find him standing there, or to discover him tangled in garden hose in his backyard. Ken assumed this was because he felt he was lacking in punishment, and never once entertained the idea he might just be lonely.

~~~

He counted the days, and then weeks, and later months, out from his deal. It was around one hundred days that he lost track, not realizing how long it had been since he’d stood at that crossroads until the anniversary a year later.

He agonized for half the day over whether or not he should make a cake or something to celebrate, but whatever plans he might’ve had were derailed when he found a strange man standing in the middle of his kitchen.


	5. Mouthful Of Foam

“Hey, uh, who are you, if you don’t mind me asking?” 

Ken had never considered keeping any weapons in his house– he’d long since pawned the gun he’d used with Friedkin– he didn’t like them, and his security system was state of the art so he’d never seen the use anyway. And yet, there he was; a tall blonde man standing in the middle of his kitchen, having appeared in Ken’s house without managing to trigger it.

He had his back to him, seemingly totally ambivalent to Ken’s question. He was inspecting one of the fake pears from the bowl on his kitchen island. Ken stared at him for a couple moments before catching sight of the horns curling back from his forehead and towards the nape of his neck. 

“Oh, right. I should’ve known.”

The man turned to look at him, revealing a pair of eyes bathed in green fire, contrasting with Hugo’s red. 

He grinned across the room. “Hey, Ken.” He said with a light southern twang before taking a large, unabashed and extremely deliberate bite of the false pear. 

Now that Ken got a better look at him he took stock of what he was up against. The man– the  _ demon _ – looked deceptively young; he could’ve been anywhere from thirty to fifty, but was definitely older than Friedkin had been. His clothes looked wholly inappropriate for those of a demon (although he’d learned not to expect things of this particular group of people) He wore a loose leather jacket over a grey t-shirt bearing the symbol of a long defunct metal band. He looked more prepared to go to a dad rock concert than a demon deal. 

Ken stared at him with a look of poorly hidden bewilderment before realization dawned on his face.

“Mr. Priest. You– you’re Hugo’s boss.”

The demon laughed dryly. “You remembered! Yes, I guess you could say that I am, in a way, Friedkin’s boss.” 

Ken tried to compose himself, brushing his hands down the front of his bathrobe and sitting across from Priest at his island. 

“Why are you  _ here,  _ though?”

“Well, Ken, I’ve been keeping an eye on you for the past year.” He put down the partially eaten foam pear and slowly started making his way towards Ken. “In my field we’re always on the lookout for guys like you.”

Ken wasn’t sure if the fact that he was a desirable asset to the world of demons was a good thing, but decided to take it as a compliment. “What do you mean?”

“Well, that trick you pulled with our friend Hugo– ” the vanishingly small amount of respect he had for Friedkin was made extremely apparent by the way he said his name “ – is the kind of thing we only get once in a blue moon. You’re clever, Ken, and we could use that.”

Ken was skeptical. “So, you want to offer me… a job? Why are you only coming to me now?”

Priest seemed a little miffed at the fact Ken didn’t immediately accept his offer. “I gave you your year of fun, Ken– I let you enjoy what little freedom you have left, your money and your luxury. I watched you, Ken, and it didn’t really seem like you were, how you say, ‘living your life to the fullest’. Now, I’d like to offer you a chance to replace our slow little friend.”

“Friedkin? Why, what happened to him?”

Priest sighed, the memory he was about to drudge seemingly painful for him to recall. “A week or so after your deal, we found Friedkin trying to play the slots in Vegas with Chuck-E-Cheese tokens. We dragged his ass back to hell and put him in a less-than-ideal job. It’ll be a couple thousand years before he works his way back up to his old position.”

“So, you’re offering me a job, but what’s in it for me?” Ken was rightfully skeptical about working for– or even becoming– a demon, although he was probably less skeptical than a normal person would’ve been.

Priest laughed. “I like the way you think Mr. Adams, but here’s the thing.” He slammed his hand down on the cold granite of the island and grinned menacingly down at Ken. Suddenly he was much more aware of the closeness Priest had been building to for the last minute. Green flame from his horns lapped at Ken’s forehead, making him sweat a little in a move that was definitely intentional.

“You don’t have a choice– whether there’s something in it for you doesn’t matter. No matter how smart you think you’re being, your ‘freedom’ still belongs to  _ me,  _ Kenny. You can either take this job, or some reporter can by chance reveal the fact your success was gained through supernatural means and you can go to jail within the week.” He shrugged, pulling away and giving Ken a moment of reprieve from the heat and fear he hadn’t even realized he was feeling.

“It’s not like you have anything to lose.”

~~~

The thing that probably bothered Ken the most was that the demon was right; he  _ didn’t _ have anything to lose. His sister wouldn’t talk to him and probably wouldn’t even care if he died or went to jail, and he didn’t really have anyone else.

Priest gave him an hour deadline to make a decision before sitting down on Ken’s couch to finish off his pear. 

Ken stood, frozen, at his island for about ten minutes, his mind stagnant, before remembering the small slip of paper he’d received a year earlier.

He ran into the office he’d decorated but never actually found a use for and rummaged through one of the expansive desk drawers. He pulled out the paper after a couple minutes of searching, clutching it between his fingers like it was his final lifeline– which it kind of was.

~~~

Bart got so few telephone calls that they sometimes forgot their phone was operational and not just a grimy statement piece. 

That was why it took them about ten rings before realizing where the sound was coming from. They did eventually manage to pick up, and were greeted by some heavy panting on the other side of the line.

“Who?” They grunted, their demeanor characteristically unprofessional.

“Bart, it’s me.”

Bart paused a moment before replying, trying to pretend that they didn’t quite remember who he was and hadn’t been actively hoping for a call from him for the past twelve months.

“Oh, yeah, Ken. What are you doing calling me at– ” they glanced at the clock “ – eleven at night?”

“Well, here’s the thing. I have a, uh,  _ demon _ in my kitchen, and he’s trying to make me come work for him. It’s kind of a delicate situation, and I thought since you’re kind of an expert that your consultation might be valuable.” His eloquence was greatly contrasted with his hurried tone.

“Well, I’m far from an expert, but maybe I can help. Also, dontcha know that you’re not supposed to, like, let them in?”

“ _ I didn’t _ . He just appeared!”

Bart pouted, unaware that Ken couldn’t read their expression from across town. “That doesn’t sound fair.”

“Yeah, whatever. So he’s saying that I could either take this job or he could call the cops on me. Both are ways to execute the deal, I guess.”

“I don’t know, Ken, this doesn’t really seem like my area of expertise.” They paused. “Do you  _ want _ the job? It kind of sounds like you want the job.”

“No...I don’t know. No. Look, Bart, I called you so you could help get me  _ out  _ of this.”  _ Maybe I should’ve just sold my soul  _ was the thought that floated to the surface of his mind before he pushed it back down.

Bart laughed. “That’s not how this works, Ken. Demon deals are like,  _ super  _ binding. You shoulda thought of that before you decided to be all clever.” they started picking dirt out from under their nails nonchalantly. “So whatcha been doing since ya sold your soul?”

Ken gawked at this sudden change of subject, but had no choice but to reply. 

“Not much, really. I bought a new house, and, uh…” Ken was surprised and a little saddened by how little there was to tell. “Turned out there was a gopher infestation on the land, so I had to take care of that. And Karen doesn’t really want to talk to me anymore, so there’s that.”

Bart snorted. “That sounds boring as fuck, Ken.”

“What? No– ” Ken winced. The truth was, Bart was kind of right. He hadn’t done much for the past year, and his mind was feeling deeply in need of stimulation. 

“I just… Okay, Bart, Well, whatever happens just try to tell my sister I love her or something like that.”

Bart nodded diligently and began to respond before realizing that the other line had already gone dead. Once again they were left feeling like they were being left on a cliffhanger for a story the ending of which they desperately wanted to know, except this time they knew for a fact that they wouldn’t be seeing Ken again.

~~~

Ken wandered back into his living room and stood over Priest, who was now gnawing on a faux wooden stem, all that was left of the pear.

“Didja make up your mind, Mr. Adams?”

Ken nodded darkly and held out a hand to Priest. The demon looked at it and smiled. “I knew you’d make the right decision.” 

When Priest grasped his hand Ken’s face split into a smile. “Pleasure doing business with you.” Were his last words as the ground opened up beneath them.

~~~

Friedkin didn’t  _ love  _ the job he had filing paperwork, but he didn’t really mind what job he had in general. To be perfectly honest, making deals had taken a lot of brainpower that Friedkin didn’t necessarily have. Plus, that Ken person had been a real piece of work and had pretty much put him off of making deals.

He did hope to one day work his way back up to some sort of fieldwork, though, and so the idea of getting a new boss was promising. Maybe this one would finally cut him some slack (his last boss had asked entirely so much of him, always asking him to  _ read  _ things and  _ network  _ with people or whatever that meant).

His eyes were trained on the door to the office block, waiting for the new head of his department to walk through. 

He’d gathered a lot about the guy at conversations at the water cooler; he’d worked his way up from a small deal-making position to this one in an amount of time one one thousandth that of what it usually took. 

People  _ listened  _ to him, and he had no problem taking extra steps to deliver on a deal. Not that Hugo really cared about that sort of thing; he’d never really been concerned with– or had a great understanding for– numbers and statistics.

Friedkin was so preoccupied with all this reminiscing that he practically fell out of his chair when a familiar face, wreathed in purple flames and a small pair of budding horns, walked in through the office doorway. 

Ken made his way straight to Friedkin’s desk, eventually standing over him and casting a particularly menacing shadow despite the height difference.

“Hey, Hugo. I’m your new boss.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave any criticism/comments/praise/theories in the comments
> 
> WARNING: While I have left that life behind, much of my vocabulary for the occult comes from Supernatural (and a little bit from DnD), so prepare for some traces of that in the coming chapters lol.


End file.
